


breakfast at cannes

by dankobah



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Actress Rey, Director Kylo, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Character Death, anidala will BREAK you, lots of feelings about cinema, lots of feelings about the french, lots of vintage feelings, rey is kinda like audrey hepburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-08 01:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14683191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dankobah/pseuds/dankobah
Summary: Including Kylo, who was across the street in Versace, getting his suit tailor-made.  Rey swore that if she peeked in the windows just right, she could see him being finicky with the fit of it like he always was.World star directors, ones that premiere only their second big movie at Cannes, had to be finicky.It's not lost on Rey how much of a big deal this is for them, the royal them sending light echoes through her brain that made the butterflies pick up their wing speed.





	1. everything looks better from above my king, like aqua marine

"Your first Cannes!  Are you nervous?"

The champagne glasses clink, the bubbles rising to the top of the glass as she stands on the dress podium.

Rey is inside of the Chanel flagship currently, a dream in itself, but to also have a custom dress being fitted on her body is another dream.  She's staring down at herself, at the pale blue satin fabric. At how she usually has nothing up top and now she looked like a 1940's starlet.

Demure.  Sexy. Dreamy.  Everything that she didn't come into the store being.

"A little," she confesses, her fingers smoothing over the skirt.  Rose steps back, looking her up and down as the designer's assistant adjusts the satin to drape just right.  It's a gown befitting a princess, pale blue satin with an off the shoulder neckline and big skirt. A sexy slit runs up the leg, showing off the recently faux tanned skin.  The color would hopefully fade to lighter, her stylist mentioning that _pale_ was not on trend.

Though everything that Rey wore wasn’t on trend, according to her.  The woman thankfully wasn’t here, having another crop of celebrities to style for the event.

Including Kylo, who was across the street in Versace, getting his suit tailor-made.  Rey swore that if she peeked in the windows just right, she could see him being finicky with the fit of it like he always was.

World star directors, ones that premiere only their second big movie at Cannes, had to be finicky.  

It's not lost on Rey how much of a big deal this is for them, the royal _them_ sending light echoes through her brain that made the butterflies pick up their wing speed.  They had become _them_ on set, on the penultimate Death Becomes Me.

 _Death Becomes Me_ is her first movie, her first real role ever.  It was a total fluke how she got it, deciding last minute to just audition for it.  Her real tears while reading the part clinched her the role, Kylo Ren staring at her from the audition table with a slack mouth and wide eyes.

She tries to look less dreamy as she straightens her back, and Rose is tapping out a message on Rey's phone.  The girl always insisted being the perfect assistant, and Rey was fortunate to have her on this life-changing trip.

The designer's assistant steps away, and she wants to twirl.  She holds off, only gazing at her reflection in the mirror. "Do you like it?" Rose asks, also staring at Rey.  She looks a little misty-eyed, which causes a lump to rise in Rey's throat.

"I _love_ it," she says, the satin feeling expensive under the tips of her fingers.  Rey briefly wonders the cost of everything on her body, but Kylo was footing the bill despite her protests.  Money didn't seem to be a thing for him, the commercial success of the last film he did riding him forward to now.   He was also getting paid to wear a watch, a lucrative amount of money for a very pricey watch to sit on his wrist for a few photos.

"I'm thinking silver heels with that." Rose then muses.  Rey hadn't even thought of the heels.

"No higher than 6 inches.  It'll mess up the skirt." the assistant rattled off, and Rey smoothed her hands along the bodice of the dress.  Cinched in, showing off what she thought was her too-slim figure.

From an abused foster kid to having Chanel on her body.  It’s a story that anyone could believe in, and she can barely believe it herself.  

"No problem.  I'm happy with it," she says.    It needs to be sewn onto her the day of, and as long as Rey doesn't bloat or (gasp) gain weight within the next 2 days, it should fit like a glove.  The assistant nods and begins the work of taking it off of her.

Rose is still madly texting someone, even as Rey comes back from the changing room.  She's back in her pinstriped dress shirt and leggings, messy bun looking much more like _Rey_.  The beat-up converse bring her down to earth also, as the dress is wrapped up in the garment bag and sent into Rose's careful hands.

Rey swipes the black card, courtesy of Kylo and definitely something she didn't use often and tries not to let her stomach roll at the amount of money.  She leaves an obscene tip for the fitting and slides her sunglasses over her nose to leave the store.

They cross the street, looking both ways before darting through traffic, to the Versace store across the street.  There aren't paparazzi here, the laws convoluted and Rey's just thankful. Her experiences with them have left her shaking or panicked normally, feeling like she's always said something she's not supposed to.

He's at the counter as she enters with Rose, and they’re both looking around the Versace store in awe and wonder.  But her eyes flit to Kylo, back turned to them as he watches the sales associate swipe his card.

Broad, he almost engulfs the space as he leans over to sign the receipt.  She sidles up next to him, Rey’s hand flitting out to touch the small of his back.

"All done?" he asks, and he's pushing the receipt back.  The sales associate is holding out the large garment bag then, Kylo taking it as he turns to finally look at Rey.

She swears she’ll never get used to his face, too beautiful and aquiline for the common man.  Slightly parted full lips, ones she kissed often in darkened screening rooms and behind tinted car windows.   Her fingers trace up his lower spine, gazing up at him.

"Yep." she answers then, a small smile touching her lips as she looks up at him.  A foot apart and the fact that Rey could be 2 of him, they looked almost too severe next to each other when they walk out of the store.

They both flip their sunglasses on their nose, and Rey stops as he stands on the curb.  "Where to now?" she asks, looking around the street. It's bustling today, and Rey’s antsy to get on the road.  She hates being spotted with him, the rumors fueling over twitter and eventually bleeding into the media.

He's looking at his phone, and then at the street.  Rey follows his eye-line, to the glossy red convertible that was pulling to idle illegally on the curb.  Kylo’s stepping to greet the driver, shaking hands and Rey is utterly _mystified_ as she looks at the vehicle.

She recognizes it very quickly, gasping as she clasps her hand over her mouth.

Rey remembers a day on set, sitting in the passenger seat of the 1957 Cadillac convertible as Kylo snapped pictures of her between takes.  The same convertible is staring right back at her, looking in mint condition.

"Have fun," Rose says, and Rey whips her head to her.   

"Huh?  What's going on?" she asks then, reaching for Rose’s shoulder.   

"Oh, Rey I was gonna stay in Paris an extra day.  There are a few errands I have to do. I hope that's okay?  I'll drive a car up tomorrow." she says. Rose was supposed to drives to Cannes with them tonight, the 9-hour trek arduous and something Rey hadn't been looking forward to.  Her and Kylo didn't like to _speak together_ too much in front of other people still, worried about assumptions over their easy familiarity.  It's just a habit not to do anything in front of Rose, even though she doesn’t mind it and had sworn so up and down LA.

So she smiles at Rose.  "Okay. Let me know when you head out tomorrow, yeah?" she asks, pulling the girl in for a hug.  Rose wraps her arms around her, and they hold for a moment. The girl manages to slide Rey’s cellphone into her shirt pocket as she pulls away, and steps away from the curb.

Rey turns to watch Kylo twirl the keys around his finger and loop around the car, to open the passenger side door.

"I rented it for the festival.  I pegged you as a sucker for classic cars-" he starts, but Rey's already jumping to wrap her arms around his neck.  Her lips press against his for a chaste kiss, then planting one on his cheek. It left a layer of lip-gloss on his mouth, clear and a little sparkle in the sunshine of Paris.

"Thank you.  This is just like the one on set." she marvels, sliding into the passenger side.  It’s a bench seat, real feeling white leather tickling her legs. She looks to Rose, who’s beaming at her.

"I"ll see you soon.  Have fun. Drive _safe_." she says.  The last part is directed at Kylo, who only gazes at her impassively behind his sunglasses as he gets in the driver's side.  He pushes the key into the ignition, Rey blowing a playful kiss to Rose.

"Oh, your hair!  Here!" Rose exclaims, taking the silk scarf off her own neck and tossing it to Rey.  She wants to protest, but Rose remembered her messy hair in the first place.

Rey was practiced in wrapping her hair up into a scarf, watching the hairstylist do it two days in a row on set.  Kylo is pulling out into the street. It's not the smoothest ride, the car a respected relic from 1957. But she doesn't care, the idle of the loud engine or the stares after them as Kylo weaved impatiently through Parisian traffic.

Eventually, she puts on her sunglasses, and they both look like something out of a 1950’s foreign film.

Especially when he begins to kiss her knuckles, the 9-hour drive posing itself to be full of opportunity.

\-----------------------------

Kylo had a lot riding on the role of Padme Amidala, a realistic portrayal of his grandmother almost required for this movie.  It was a biopic on the life of Anakin Skywalker, and the tumultuous downfall of his marriage and eventual overdose. Full of twists, turns, hard drugs, abuse, and emotions, he needed a perfect Padme.

And he had found her, in a 5’4 spitfire named Rey Niimaa.  New to the scene, just out of acting school across the pond and moved to sunny LA.  She worked two jobs before she was cast, a barista on nights and weekends and a daycare worker during the weekdays.

Now she was _Rey Niimaa_ , up and coming actress with a _stomach-churning_ emotional range.  She knew what she was doing, questioned him often, and it's no wonder that they started off the set immediately loathing each other.

Loathing transitioned to tolerance, which transitioned to friends.  And on the last 4 days of the shoot, after the gazes and a _rough_ sex scene with Poe Dameron (the Anakin that Kylo didn't know he needed), they had fucked.

A 15-minute thing that he didn't think would do much to change their relationship.  He was wrong because it changed how he thought of _her_.

Rey was, well, different than most women he liked to have in his life.  Bossy, headstrong, with a penchant for the need to belong. All of it too reminiscent of him, but he still gave her a place to belong.

She was with him the entire post-production process, late night dinners in a hole in the wall Chinese restaurant after an edit session.  Holding him when he was screaming about Amazon not picking up the distribution on the phone.

Her lips on his skin, as he showed her the final Cannes-ready cut, just them in the screening room.

No one knew about them of course, Kylo keeping all the women who managed to drift into his life in privacy.  Especially Rey, since she worked beneath him and he didn't want to share their relationship with anyone but them.

Kylo puts the top on the convertible eventually, tired of his hair whipping around his face while Rey’s stays perfectly coiffed up in Rose's floral printed scarf.  She's watching out the window, sometimes letting her hand drift over his thigh or his bicep.

She moves to the middle of the bench around hour 6, when they're in a light amount of traffic, and sets her head on his shoulder.

In the same motion, her lips seem to be on his neck, pressing soft and fluttery kisses along his pulse.  He relishes them, his heart thrumming just a little bit faster. "Don't start what you can't finish." he teases.  She pulls away from his neck to gaze at him, and he looks over at her with a smirk.

"Have I ever not finished?" she asks, with a coquettish half-gaze over her Ray-bans.  She's got him there. Rey is determined in everything she does, even if it kills her.

"No.  But I don't think getting hard and driving on a French highway mix very well," he whispers, leaning forward to catch her lips in his.

Chaste and to the point, he licks his lips as he pulls away.  Her lips push into a pout for only a moment, before setting back to her normal speculation of him.

"And we have a film to premiere.  We shouldn't careen off a road anyways."

That gets her to snort, looking down before pressing a kiss into his shoulder.  "You might be right." she allows.

Kylo pulls forward, just a little, before glancing at her again.  "You nervous?" he asks.

He felt like his body was a live-wire of anxiety.  No one had seen Death Becomes Me yet, besides Rey, him, and the editor.  Snoke, their producer, got his cut of the film over email a month ago, Kylo not bothering to burn it into a DVD for him.  They had almost been late for Cannes consideration because of him and his anger over the final scene where Anakin goes over the edge and hurts Padme.

It was apparently “too much” and will “shock audiences too much”, and Kylo wanted to scoff at him.  Padme and Anakin were known in classic cinema history for being too much. And Kylo wasn't going to sugarcoat their demise, the drugs and the work and Palpatine being heavily involved.

If Kylo was supposed to win an Oscar like his grandfather did for Vader, he had to take risks.

They had obviously paid off.  They had been invited to the festival only last month, citing "fresh talent" and a "poignant story".  He remembered telling Rey, how she had dropped her 6 dollars iced latte on his hardwood and squealed.

"Of course.  But I can't imagine how you feel." she allows.   

"It's a combination of anticipation and anxiety," he confesses.  He's not good with feelings, never claimed to be, but he knows those two too well.

"I'm sure people are going to love it.  I loved it, even though I hate watching myself," she says.  It was always the one thing she said couldn't stand in acting school, Kylo imagining her combing through her own reel with a full bottle of wine at her side.

It makes a smile grace his lips for a moment.  "I thought your performance held itself against Hux and Poe.  They've both been doing this for 10 years each, and you held your own." he then compliments.

A blush rises on her cheeks, and he doesn't point it out.  

"Do you mean it?" she asks then.

Without hesitation or much thought, he answers.

"Yes.  Of course, I do.  For all intents and purposes, casting you has been the best decision I've made."

Her smile makes his chest twist and he wants to pull her into his arms.

"Thank you.  I love y-" she starts, her mouth awkwardly snapping shut on the rest of the sentence.

Kylo's eyebrows furrow at that, but he tries not to notice.  She was going to say it, but she stopped.

He wished she said it, he finally realizes in their silence.  The traffic thins and they're on the road again, his brain contemplative and sifting through everything.

\--------------------------

Rey had almost said it.

She didn't know why her mouth had trapped it though, without her even asking to.

Maybe it was the anxiety that he wouldn't say it back, or would receive it terribly.  Or that he would crash off the road, or have an aneurysm.

The list is endless, and it makes her anxiety peak and flares the rest of the drive.  She's angry at herself, even as they walk into the ridiculously busy hotel. It's late, just after 10 pm, and directors and actors she's idolized forever are just walking around like normal plebeians would be.

Kylo checks them in, and Rey listens in only briefly as she’s describing the suite.  Two bedrooms, plenty of space, top floor with access to the rooftop. Of course, nothing prepares her for the mysticism and secret winding staircase.

Or how the room looks.  Her jaw is slack as she enters, Kylo moving past her like this was normal.  Like a grand piano and a living room bigger than her apartment back in LA was a common occurrence.  Or a huge king bed, or a huge tub.

Or an ocean view when she steps out onto the rooftop, hearing the waves crash and the sounds of the film festival that's only a 2 minute walk away.  A film festival that her first film would be premiering at in only two days.

She's staring at the sea, hearing the waves and inhaling the brine that came hand in hand, when his arms wrap around her.  They cage just beneath her ribs, and she moves her head so he can tuck it in his neck.

He presses determined kisses on her pulse point, and Rey lets her lower lip pull between her teeth for a moment.

"Come to bed." he eventually whispers against her skin, and she's wondering if he's forgotten about the I love you thing.

It's obvious that he has when she hesitates and he drags her back into the room, untangling his arms from her to turn her to face him.  She stares up at him then, through her lashes. His mouth is parted, and his thumb comes to swipe slowly across her lower lip. He’s staring at her, really marveling at her.

Rey closes the space, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to kiss her.  Her lips part for him, a surrender that only means _"I’m yours tonight"_.

She’s his, and he knows it.  Taking the liberty to tangle their tongues, he’s working on her shirt with dextrous fingers.  He fumbles though, on the third to last button. So he rips it, the buttons popping off and causing Rey to retract from his mouth with a gasp.

"You ripped-" she starts, and his lips are on hers again and his hands on the waistband of her leggings.  She shrugs the dress shirt limply to the floor, the transgression forgotten. She’s not wearing a bra beneath it, not caring for the cut of underwire.

The fabric of her leggings peels off her skin, leaving the black sheer thong in its wake.  A bold choice this morning, and Rey somehow knew the day would end with Kylo jumping her in yet another French hotel room.

His lips pull away from hers, and he steps back to view her at arm’s length.  His eyes rake and appraise, leaving her skin red in the wake of his intense gaze.  She gazes at the floor, and his hand comes up to tip her chin up so he can stare into her eyes.

"Hands and knees.  Face the headboard." he then says, nodding towards the bed.  Rey's eyes widen, and she glances behind her at the bed. He lets go of her chin.

"Now," he demands then, and it’s the crack of a whip to her arousal.  Her stomach twists up, and she feels all the heat settle between her legs.  He"s bossy often, Rey actually tolerating it in these situations.

She scrambles to do what he says, the mattress soft beneath her palms and knees.  She does an extra thing though, spreading her legs only a little more so she can display herself to him through the sheer fabric.

His breath audibly catches, and Rey feels a shiver run down her spine as his belt clinks and hits the floor.

The mattress dips with his weight, and Rey peeks back to see him on his knees.  He’s staring at her with an open mouth, gaze showing he loved what he saw.

It doesn’t prepare her for his finger to come up and push a line into the fabric of the gusset, the fabric rubbing against her slit.  A jarring touch and she dips her back to accommodate it.

His breath on her inner thigh is jarring, the kiss and nip causing her to lightly moan.  Rey peeks between her legs, watching his hand come up to find purchase on the elastic of her thong, pulling it down roughly.  He pulls it off her legs and tosses it to the side, hands coming to forcefully part her legs more for him.

His mouth ghosts over folds then, a light kiss on her clit having a breath catch in her throat.  

"So wet," he whispers before he licks a fat stripe up her slit.  It gets her to shudder, his slow licks meant to tease.

But his finger comes up to push circles into her clit and Rey lets out an audible moan this time.  She can hear his snort against her, and he winds his free hand around her thigh to brace her in place.

She can’t move in his grip, and his tongue takes on a messy rhythm.  He’s tasting all of her, as he usually did. An addict with his vice, he hums contentedly.  The vibration hits her deep in the stomach, and she opens her mouth to say something.

It cuts off with a moan as he sucks on her clit, pulling away with a lewd pop.  His tongue dips inside then, and she feels every muscle in her body tense up and tightens.  The sounds add to it, his wet licks and kisses taking over the sound of the open ocean that was just beyond the open door of the balcony.

Her brain begins to white out as his pace increases, Rey building up towards the cliff of release.   

When she’s close, keening and whining underneath his mouth, he pulls away.  She whips her head back to stare at him, at the sheen that made his lips slick.  Open-mouthed breaths as he stares at her, fire and determination in his eyes.

He had taken off all of his clothing but his boxer briefs, which were very tented by now.  "Don"t stop," she says, breathiness taking over her voice. Also annoyance, at the absence of pleasure and friction.

"What do you want?" he asks.  She stares at him. They played this game often, and he smirks.

He knows what she wants, and she glances down at the outline of his cock through the fabric to make it apparent.

"I can’t give it you if you don’t use your words," he says.  She wishes she could roll her eyes right now, and she would if she wasn’t so obscenely turned on by it.  Her pussy is sopping, she can feel it as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Come on actress.  Give me a line." he then says, and she narrows her eyes at him.

The taunting works though.

"Your cock," she mumbles then, and he gives a satisfied smile.   

"Good choice," he says, and she actually lets her eyes roll at him.

His hands come to grab around her midsection before she can retract it, flipping her on her back in one smooth motion.  He manhandles her often, seeming to be the only way he gets her to do what he needs her to do.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" he asks, watching her face.  Rey narrows them, and he’s pushing her legs apart and settling his body over hers.  Their faces sit only inches apart. She doesn’t say anything.

"You did.  You’re rebellious tonight," he remarks, and the dulcet tones of him chastising her send more waves of pleasure up her spine.  He’s pulling off his boxers, his cock coming to rest against her inner thigh.

"Maybe I am." she allows, and his look silences her.  Hungry, murderous almost.

"I hate rebellion," he says, lining up and rubbing the leaking head along her folds.  She hisses, and her hands brace on his chest. One of his arms is under her lower back, lifting her so she can accommodate him better as he pushes into her.

Inch by glorious inch, the stretch still mind-blowing every time she experiences it.  Its fullness and she can almost feel him in her lower stomach. She breathes, and his lips press against hers as she takes a moment to adjust.

She scratches into his chest when he starts moving though, slow rocks of his hips as he kisses down her neck, peppering small ones across her breasts.

Rey watches him, mouth slack as his pace steadily increases.  His mouth comes to latch around a nipple, his teeth teasing the pebbled skin.  It gets a gasp, and he retracts to suck a love bite into her breast.

She’s back at the cliff before she even realizes it, her moans coming up and louder as his pace converts to punishing.

"You like it when I fuck you like this?" he asks, lips against the skin of her throat again.  She’s glad he’s holding off from the bites finally, these past few months being constant scarves.  They had an event to be at, and his bite mark on her breast would raise eyebrows.

"Yes." she whimpers, and her nails rake down his back.  It gets him to growl, low against her throat.

"You’re fucking _unreal_ , Rey." he then says, the growl leaving and replaced with something akin to adoration.  It's through a clenched jaw though.

She wants to say he’s unreal, a god amongst men.

But the whole world will realize it when he does, underneath the light of the screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i watch a cannes stream, i write a fic. thoughts and feelings r welcome @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/dankobah) and [tumblr](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> chapter title based on ["salvatore" by lana del rey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVQON-muEFc)


	2. honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thought seems to summon her, opening up the doors to the rooftop. The white comforter is tangled around her naked body, hair pulled back into a messy bun at the top of her head. It’s 10 when he checks his watch, and he’s still lounging around in sweatpants and a t-shirt.
> 
> She’s stepping up next to him, a universal signal for him to scoot back and let her sit in his lap. Her back rests against his chest, Kylo reaching for the plate of breakfast to sit in front of her. All of this done silently, while he’s listening to the question.
> 
> “Was the creative process hard for you? It is the subject of your family and the temptation to sugarcoat must’ve been high. Especially after all the opposition.” the man says, the UK accent thick over the phone.
> 
> That makes him laugh, barely jostling Rey. His arm comes to wrap around her midsection, an anxiety relief.

“I think we don’t really think about the fact that Anakin Skywalker really hurt Padme Amidala.  Their children were taken from the home because of him and eventually kept from Padme due to illness.  It ruined her, and I’m not surprised she contracted cancer and died in 3 short months,” he says, watching the waves as he sits back in the chair.

It’s the day he’s been waiting for, and Kylo has been up and annoyed since 7:30.  He realized premiering at Cannes garnered media attention, especially interviews and magazine articles galore.

He did not anticipate this many Skype calls, back to back with ignorant journalists.  Phasma, his PR manager, is currently en route to Cannes and should land around 11:35. He has to go get her from the airport, and probably take her to lunch with some unfortunate magazine and be asked all the same juicy questions.  All of it on the magazine’s dime of course.

He’s already eaten breakfast, plate licked almost clean.  Rey’s breakfast sits across the table, untouched. She sleeps like a rock usually, and he kept her out late last night.  Also up even later, because he liked to take his time with her.

“Every time I hear Anakin getting praised, I think about how he started as a shining beacon for Hollywood.  And because of Palpatine, because of the overwork and the exhaustion and the scrutiny, he fell to be a monster.  He was the one who made the choice to use though. He made the choice to fall away.” he then says. Interviews were typically a workout with him, most people sweating because he would talk over them or entirely reroute the question.  He knew how to manipulate the media well, whereas Rey looked like a deer in the headlights.

The thought seems to summon her, opening up the doors to the rooftop.  The white comforter is tangled around her naked body, hair pulled back into a messy bun at the top of her head.  It’s 10 when he checks his watch, and he’s still lounging around in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

She’s stepping up next to him, a universal signal for him to scoot back and let her sit in his lap.  Her back rests against his chest, Kylo reaching for the plate of breakfast to sit in front of her. All of this done silently, while he’s listening to the question.

“Was the creative process hard for you?  It is the subject of your family and the temptation to sugarcoat must’ve been high.  Especially after all the opposition.” the man says, the UK accent thick over the phone.

That makes him laugh, barely jostling Rey.  His arm comes to wrap around her midsection, an anxiety relief.

“I always want to tell real stories.  I don’t think sugar coating is ever an option in these situations, not coded into me.  The creative process itself was hard. Getting the movie I wanted made was a challenge, lots of opposition facing me at key points.” he answers diplomatically.  He couldn’t say that Snoke nearly tanked the thing or acknowledge that Luke Skywalker publicly spoke out against the movie. He wants this interview to end before the journalist requires elaboration or asks about the aforementioned subjects.

She’s eating anyways, watching the ocean with a fascination in her eyes.  Rey had been born and adopted from Tunisia, so the ocean always held her rapt fascination.  He guesses that it placed her somewhere far from here, in the baking heat and sun.

“I think I’m going to wrap this interview up,” he says then.  Rey tilts her head to look at him and he lets a smile grace his lips.

“Oh, oh of course!  Thank you for your time, we’ll be in contact with Phasma.” the man says, grateful for the literal scraps Kylo has given him.  

“No problem,” he says.  Kylo doesn’t hesitate to wait for his goodbye, hanging up the phone and setting it on the table.

She’s sifting through her eggs, chewing on a mouthful already when he kisses her on the cheek.

“Morning.  Sleep well?” he asks.  Rey swallows and turns slightly to look at him through narrowed eyes.

“Did you end that early?  For me?” she asks. He doesn’t hesitate on his nod, and she seems like she can’t believe someone could do that.  She’s naive to the media, the one reason why he’s glad to shadow over her at Cannes, something looming and warning to keep spoiler nuts away.

“I forgot you like to always give the public what they want.” he teases.

“I’ve gotten better, haven’t I?  I just feel like I should cater to their interests,” she says.  He shrugs. His philosophy was scraps or nothing, whereas Rey had little to no filter on any subject.  

“They don’t deserve you to cater to their interests.  Not at all,” he answers, and he’s not very diplomatic on the subject.  She knows it and just stares at him.

“I know you’re right, but I’m going to pretend you’re not until I realize it.  Okay?” she asks. That’s diplomatic for her.

“Fine.  I assume you’ve got hours of appointments?” he asks, derailing onto a different subject.  They had to leave for the premiere and carpet at 6 since they were driving themselves. Rey didn’t know about that part or about what was going to happen to them tonight.

“Absolutely.  Manicures and pedicures and waxing and _all sorts_ of fun.” she grumbles.  Rey’s one of the only women he knows who’s not hyper-meticulous about her appearance.  It’s refreshing for him.

“Good luck.  I’ve gotta leave to get Phasma from the airport soon.  But I’ll see you of course.” he says. It’s a vow because going longer than 6 hours without kissing her gnaws at the back of his skull.

“You will.  You definitely will,” she whispers, craning her lips to kiss him.  He accepts it, enjoying the feel of her mouth against his.

It’s a picture that any wise photographer would capture, against the surf of the French Riviera.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m going to pull on 3.”

Rey is staring at the esthetician with the most murderous look she can manage, before sucking her lower lip between her teeth and bracing.

“Sure,” she replies then, shutting her eyes.

They’ve already waxed her legs, given her a pedicure and manicure, and the facial was directly before this.  It’s been a day full of primping, and it’s been _enjoyable_ up until the waxing.  Now they were directly on her bikini-line, a request from her stylist in the case of the slit in the skirt.

“One.” the woman starts, and Rey’s got her eyes shut still and trying to think of anything else.

Her mind flits to the day they had yesterday, and how peaceful it had been.  They had just sat around in bed all day, only hitting the beach after dark with a bottle of red wine and a blanket.

“Two.” the woman then says.

His lips traced over her skin, leaving trails as she spoke about her fears and gazed at the dark waves.

“Three,” she says.

Pain brings her back here and she yelps.  But only for a moment, and the woman is laying on more wax for another strip, Rey wanting to deck her stylist for the suggestion.  

It’s 15 more minutes of pain for the sake of beauty before she’s lotioned up and sent out into the lobby of the hotel spa to pay.  She feels like the skin of her entire lower half is on fire, but she steps up to the counter anyways.

She’s behind an older woman (with fresh, light pink dye in her probably white hair), and glancing at her phone.  The hairstylist and makeup artist were about 30 minutes out, citing traffic. “Rey?” a voice asks, after the door to the spa lobby shuts.  It gets her to look back behind her shoulder.

Rose is holding the garment bag in her grip, and Rey breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of her and the bag.  They were both here safely, and Rey’s closing the space to hug her.

“You made it!  How was Paris?” she asks, holding the girl at arm’s length.  Rey’s assessing Rose’s face, the smile punctuating her lips causing Rey to do a double-take.

Scheming, almost conniving.  She quickly realizes why, as Finn walks through the spa doors.  It almost doesn’t register, him being here. He was supposed to be in LA, watching the apartment.

Rose’s expression now makes sense and Rey _bounds_ to Finn.  “You’re here!” she exclaims, as she wraps him in a tight hug.  Finn doesn’t even stumble back, wrapping his arms around her as they slightly sway.

Rey had been convinced that he wasn’t going to go, and had been right when he told her he wasn’t.  “I am. I wasn’t going to miss Cannes or the premiere.” Finn says, and her head tucks on his shoulder.  She pulls away, still holding him by the arms.

“How did-” she starts.

“I flew him here,” Rose interjects, and Rey glances between them.  

She’s wiping at her eyes then, and she tries to compose her face-splitting grin.  “You two are…” she trails off, her head shaking as she gives Rose a tight hug.

“I could do with some lunch personally,” Finn announces, and Rey snorts.

“I’m always good with lunch,” she answers.

\---------------------------------------------

The stress and anxiety were metallic in his mouth as he entered the hotel suite, Phasma following behind him with her phone held up to read.

“Critics are awaiting Kylo Ren’s newest lovechild, Death Becomes Me.  A polarizing movie about the life of famed director Anakin Skywalker, Ren takes a gritty and emotionally churning approach in the latest clip released.” Phasma reads off, and Kylo is looking for any trace of Rey.

She must be getting ready in the other bedroom, Rose ridiculously insistent over text for him to wait to see her.  Kylo, in an unprecedented move, decided to humor the assistant.

But he wants her here, to hold and whisper all his fears to.  What if they didn’t like it? What if the point didn’t get across?  

He knew it was good, he believed that it was.  For the first time, he had actually liked what he had done, and he’s so concerned about other people’s opinions that he can’t bask in the high.  He’s at Cannes, a dream ever since he was young. Ever since he cared enough movies to begin to make them.

“Good reception all around, except for-” Phasma starts, and Kylo cuts her off with a raise of his hand and a yank on the master bedroom door.  

“What did they say about Rey?” he asks.  The clip released is Padme and Anakin’s infamous public blow-up at Sundance, Padme storming out of the theater in tears at her portrayal on screen.  The scene was poignant, shot beautifully, and focused mostly on Rey’s performance and Padme’s pain.

“A powerhouse, fresh talent.  One said that she resembles Padme’s emotional range to a T.’ she reads.  It’s satisfying for him.

“Good.  That’s all I need to hear.  Now let me put on my suit in peace.” he says.  It’s not like he doesn't like Phasma. He just doesn’t want to hear about his slights as a director quite yet, not when they haven’t seen the full picture.

“Of course,” Phasma says, and Kylo slams the door.  He glances to the garment bag laid on the bed, his eyebrows furrowing.  A black envelope sits atop it, his name written across it and messy cursive.  He picks it up, opening it carefully and unfolding the piece of notebook paper.

_Kylo,_

_I’m writing this as you snore next to me.  You’re very loud, I want you to know that. I’ll chalk it to jet-lag but I won’t excuse it any longer._

_These last 10 months have been a whirlwind of epic proportions.  From auditioning for you to getting the part. Filming the movie, falling in love with the process.  It makes my head spin just thinking about it still, how just last year I was watching your first film and now I am in your second._

_You are doing the right thing by making this story known, despite what people are saying.  They have not seen what light you are portraying everything Padme and Anakin went through together, and they’re going to feel like fools for questioning your intentions._

_You have lifted me when I have questioned myself, you have held me as I’ve cried, you have defended me from the internet.  I love our late night dinners, how you ask me to read your scripts and proceed to toss them out afterward because “they don’t need to be made”.  I love the way you look at a monitor, I love the way you looked at me when I brought the cake to the wrap party._

_Now we’re here.  “Death Becomes Me” is almost revealed to the world.  I am excited to represent it and breathe it alongside you._

_Love,_

_Rey_

_PS: Fuck the critics._

He scans the words a million times, absorbing each one.  There’s some sort of wetness in his eyes as he folds the notebook paper.  He can’t unravel now, and he sniffles.

He begins to strip off, slowly and looking out the window as he does.

The nerves are mounting up, keeping his other emotions at a close head, until he gets the suit on.  He’s adjusting the blazer on his shoulders, looking at the perfect fit and the crisp navy. It’s deep enough to almost read as black, and it’s different for him.  He’s putting his cufflinks on as he enters the living room.

It’s populated with more people now, missing Rey and Rose.  Finn sat on his living room couch shocks him, not expecting to see his sound guy off of the set.  “When did you get in?” Kylo’s asking. He’s not used to _actually_ talking to Finn, and it’s obvious he isn’t either.

“Late last night.  I didn’t want to miss the world premiere of Rey’s career,” he says.  It’s not about the movie at all for him and Kylo’s nodding.

“I wouldn’t expect you to.  How does she look?” he asks, adjusting the watch on his wrist.  It doesn’t need to be adjusted, he’s just fidgety at a close 5:45.

Finn answers his question with a nod towards the hall behind him, and Kylo’s turning.

Rey’s stood in the archway, wrapped in pale blue satin.  Her skirt is being arranged by Rose, careful not to harm the delicate fabric or crease it anywhere.  Her collarbones are apparent across her tan skin, the neckline dipping to show cleavage. It’s off the shoulder, and Kylo sees the train as she steps tentatively towards him.  She’s in a five-inch heel, silver and shiny even in the hotel.

She looks like a princess and Kylo is stepping tentatively towards her to grab both of her hands.  She’s a little nervous, he can tell how based on how she exhales.

“I feel underdressed,” he says.  Rey bites her lower lip to hold back a giggle, and she’s letting go of one hand to smooth out his lapel.

“You look-” she starts, but her voice falls away as she looks him up and down.

“I didn’t know that I needed to see you in Chanel.  Is it heavy?” he asks. Rey looks down at it and blushes slightly.  It’s then that he can see the braided updo, romantic twists like the 1940’s.  It must’ve taken time to do.

“Not too bad.  It’s satin, so I’m more worried about people stepping on it,” she mumbles.  He wants to feel the fabric but he holds off. He’ll be taking it off her later, he figures.

“I’ll make sure people stand clear,” he says.  It puts something between the people and them, and it’s all he wants.

“Good.  Poe texted me, the cast and everyone is in the lobby.  Shall we get going?” she asks. Kylo wants a few more private moments with her, but he knows they’re on a schedule.  He nods, still having her hand.

They walk side by side, Rose behind them carrying the train.  The girl is wearing a fitted black turtleneck dress, carrying a large leather tote bag.  She looks sleek and smart, not drawing any attention. Finn isn’t either, in a traditional tux.  Phasma has opted for silver, high cut and showing off her impossibly long legs in a pair of silver heels.  She’s the tallest one of them all, and Kylo never minds it. They have the same sort of mind, aggressive and Type-A.

He wouldn’t want to be with anyone else at this current moment, casting his eyes to Rey as they wait for the elevator.  Rey’s jubilant-looking, almost glowing in simple makeup. Her lips are only coated in a sheen of gloss, she looks fresh-faced.  He’s envious because she’s going to steal the show.

“You’re staring.” she interrupts, and Kylo doesn’t move his eyes.

“So?” he asks, and the doors open.  They step into the elevator, Kylo being careful as he helps Rey’s skirt complete its journey.

“We’ll take another one on the way down,” Rose says, and Kylo’s looking up from his knees as he’s smoothing her skirt out.

“No problem,” Rey says, the doors shutting.  Giggles erupt from her lips and Kylo stands up.

“What?” he asks.  Rey’s eyebrows raise conspiratorially.

“I like you on your knees.  It’s a pretty sight,” she says.  Kylo’s jaw tenses and he inhales through his nose.

She can’t do this right now, and she knows it.  She knows he can’t do anything about it until later since this is the most important night of their career.

“I will fucking-” he starts, and the elevator doors are sliding open.  Their hands drop from each other, a semblance of normalcy. No one knew about them besides Rose and Finn, and their obvious managers.  It was to keep a semblance of privacy for once.

Kylo’s pent-up but he puts on his normal stoicism.  This was all exciting though, furling in his gut as Rey glided to hug Poe.  The portrayers of Padme and Anakin met in an embrace, Poe making sure to keep his hands off of any part that would make Kylo glare daggers.  They’re pulling away, Rey misty-eyed.

“Look at you.  The legend himself.” Hux says.  He’s wandering over to clap Kylo on the shoulder, and Kylo narrowly dodges it.  They had a rough relationship on set, Hux’s classically trained and British background being mostly to blame.  Obi-Wan was supporting, but Hux treated it like his part was _all_ of the movie.  They butted heads, but Kylo’s willing to wave his white flag for tonight.  Just for their sanity.

“I wouldn't say legend,” Kylo says.  Hux is a kiss-ass to the wrong people, and he makes it obvious when he is.

“You directed and wrote the movie that’s about to clinch me an Oscar nom.  I’d say you’re a legend in my book.” Hux says, and Kylo only looks him up and down.  If anyone _deserved_ Oscar noms, it would be Rey and Poe.  He doesn’t say it out loud, because he doesn’t want to deal with a bruised ego.

“Perhaps.” He only offers, face pensive as he walks to Rey and Poe.  They’re finishing up taking photos together, Rose holding the camera.  Finn’s off to the side, gazing at adoration that Kylo only recognizes. Pining.

“Get in there!” Rose encourages, and Poe’s already yanking him into the picture.  Kylo hates being on camera, but he’s tolerating it for Rey. For the _memories_.  Mostly these would just go up on Instagram later with some sentimental caption.

“Just Kylo and Rey now,” Rose says, and Poe quickly hops out of the picture and darts away.  He’s full of energy, and Kylo assumes his normal stance next to her. Rey tucks into his side, and Rose seems to _vibrate_ with pent-up feelings about them.  It was more often than not that she was screaming about them looking too good together.

Rey takes back her phone and shows him the picture.  Of course, he doesn’t look at himself, only her radiance and the way she gazes up at him in one.

“We should get going, he cars are idling outside,” Rose says, Phasma nodding to back her up.  All the managers seem to be on edge tonight, and Kylo wants them to loosen up so he can. Rey’s nodding and walking to the door, Kylo quickly following her.  They get outside, in the cooling-off air. It smells like the ocean, only 4 minutes from the sea.

Rey’s walking towards the black limo, and he grabs her wrist to stop her.  “Convertible.” He says. Rey looks back at him in confusion before noticing the vintage red convertible parked on the curb.  The same one they had driven to Cannes in.

“Can we drive ourselves?” Rey asks, and Kylo’s already opening the passenger door for her.

“There’s no explicit rule that we can’t.” he defends, and she’s delicately getting into the car while minding the skirt.  Rose rushes over to adjust her pressed handiwork, and Kylo starts the car to set it in idle. Rose is fixing it, closing the door carefully.

“You better not fuck it up!” Rose calls, and Kylo’s pushing the car into drive and pressing down on the gas pedal.  The car rolls forward and they’re on the way.

“I wouldn’t have gotten satin if I knew it was so finicky,” she says, and Kylo idles at the stop sign.  It’s a short drive and he can see traffic ahead leading to the theater It was better to be a little late to these things, less time with the press.

“I like satin on you.” He says.  Kylo is biased since lingerie was all too common in his fantasies of Rey.

“You would.” Rey teases, and he’s tempted to kiss her.  Not in public, not so exposed in a vintage convertible.

“I like a lot of things on you.  My come for instance,” he says. Rey gasps and stares at him.  He only shrugs.

Two could play this game, and he watches her jaw set.  “Fine. We can play hardball,” she says. Kylo raises his eyebrows at her.

“You won’t win.  I guarantee it,” he says.  

“Watch me,” she says.  It’s a tall order, and he only stares ahead as the cars move a little forward.

“You’ll do fine out there.  Everyone’s gonna know your name by the end of the night,” he says, changing the subject.  

Rey looks over at him, and her hand reaches out to touch his cheek.  “Yours too. They’re going to love you,” she says. He wants to snort.  A lot of publications didn’t like him on account of Anakin Skywalker. The residual pain of his grandfather’s slights and choices had bled into how people perceived Kylo.  Too aggressive, too much of a hardass. He is trying to make art, and he would knife backs to get it done.

Now he’s showing people what he can do.  “Perhaps.” he offers. Kylo wanted to look Snoke in the face when he gets back to the States, and see the shock bleed out of him.  Rey didn’t know their history, the amount of bullshit he had to silently sit through to get this made.

_“You dare stain your grandfather’s legacy?  The legendary Anakin Skywalker-”_

Kylo tries not to shudder at it, knowing from research and enough conversations that his grandparent’s history shouldn’t be remembered fondly.  Anakin had loved her, but it had bled to obsession to an unhealthy level.

Hurting someone to make them stay as a muse, was inhumane.

The car rumbles, and he pulls forward.  Slow progress, they’re going to be late but the festival can’t screen the movie without them.  They were the last showing of the night, after all, everything flowing fluid into the after party.  He had no hand in planning that, and he was guaranteed that it was all taken care of.

Rey’s leg is bouncing, and Kylo likens her to a jumpy rabbit.  The nerves would have to melt away before they hit the carpet. He doesn’t want her to spiral out into an emotional wreck.  Some actresses did at their first premiere.

“Picture them all naked,” he says.  Cliche and she looks over like he has 5 heads.  Kylo holds his hands up in defense, as the car rumbles further.  The festival is in sight now, and she’s taking a deep breath. Kylo’s taking one of his own.

“Things won’t change after this right?  You won’t get a big ego and leave me for some pretty French girl?” she asks then.  Kylo scoffs at the thought, and he shakes his head.

“You’re the only thing I have my eyes on right now.  I don’t want anyone else,” he says. Rey reaches out and squeezes his thigh, a sign of thanks in her silent little language.  Kylo only smirks, looking forward as he hears the shouts begin to erupt at their car being second in line. The judges are finishing their arrival, and Kylo doesn’t want to think about that portion.  He hates the prospect of his film getting ripped apart.

It’s an acceptance process, and he’s pushing it out of his mind as he pulls forward.  The cameras rush forward, and his limbs are propelling him forward. He’s looming, tall and threatening and people move aside for him as he loops around the car.

“Reculer!” he barks.  It’s a good French phrase to know, especially as he opens the passenger side door for Rey and offers his hand.  He’s a gentleman, and she gazes up at him.

Grabbing his hand, Kylo helps her carefully out of the car.  The dress is barely wrinkled, and Rose’s fretting had paid off.  Rey is thankfully steady, legs not coltish as he was expecting in the five-inch heels.

“Go ahead,” he says, his hand sweeping out as his hand naturally settles on the small of her back.  She does a double take, before stepping forward.

She’s lost to flashbulbs, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen.

\---------------------------------------------

Your life doesn’t prepare you for events like these.

Rey is realizing it as she steps onto the flash of red, seeming a mile long before her feet.  She feels everything, sees everything. Her face feels like it’s going to split in two, as she stops as directed at the first photo point.

It’s a whirlwind, the brine of the ocean mixed with the flash of expensive cameras.  The shouts of her name, the directions.

“Twirl for us!” One yells, holding his camera up from the middle of the sea of cameras.  Rey shakes her head bashfully, and she turns and begins to walk to the next point.

But interviewers descend.  Rey is overwhelmed by that, composing quickly as Rose rushes to her side to hover.  She goes with the official festival commentators, a shorter man who’s speaking rapidly.

“Bonjour Rey Kenobi!” he greets, and Rey smooths out the bodice of her dress in a nervous tick.

“Bonjour!” she greets, and she sways only slightly.  The heels are high, and she only wants to sit for two hours.

“Your first Cannes!  Is it as you expect?” he asks.  

There’s a friendliness in his tone, and she appreciates it as she lifts her shoulders.  “Lots of people. Overwhelming really,” she answers. He’s laughing.

“What can you tell us about Death Becomes Me?” he then asks.  Rey glances at the microphone.

“Um...it’s very loved and it’s a project we all put our passion into.  Telling this story right was a commitment from the beginning, and I believe we’ve done it,” she says.  It’s not too much, and it’s praise.

“Kylo!  Look this way!” she hears the photographers call, and she resists glancing back at him.  She knows she won’t be able to stop staring.

“You play Padme, who’s considered a legend in acting.  Was it a lot to live up to the role?” he asks.

Rey hums in thought, stalling before she answers.  It works, as Kylo sidles up next to her. “Oh, bonjour Mr. Ren!” the interviewer greets, almost in awe as he realizes his luck.  He’s only here for her.

“Bonjour.” he greets, politely.  

It’s a feat for him to be so polite, and Rey feels an instant wave of calm.  “We just asked Rey this, but what can you tell us about Death Becomes Me?” the interviewer asks.

“Que les gens ont mal attribué le titre à Anakin Skywalker, quand Padme a vraiment donné la note de script. Nous sommes en retard, que nous sommes tellement désolé.” he says.  Rey tries to follow with the fluid French leaving his mouth, but his hand is on her arm, and Rey lets him gently lead her away.

“What did you say?” she asks.  

He doesn’t have an opportunity to answer her before they’re separated again, Poe grabbing Rey’s arm and pulling her to the next set of photographers for a photo.  Anakin and Padme side to side, the height difference obvious by the heels.

It’s all dizzying, the attention and vies for her attention.  “Who are you wearing?” a photographer asks. The essential question on any Cannes carpet.

“Chanel,” she calls, as Poe moves on and she stays.  They needed individual photos anyways, or they would riot.  She can see Kylo, talking to a different interviewer. His own brand of disinterest reads on his face.

She catches his gaze, and Rey gives a small secretive smile.  Then she looks back to the wall of cameras, turning as they command to look over her shoulder.  She’s the one with the most noticeable dress, baby blue satin train, and skirt glinting off the red carpet.  

She wonders if this is what royalty feels like, redness crossing her cheeks as Kylo sidles next to her.  The flashbulbs erupt as his arm wraps around her waist, Rey trying to resist tucking into him and putting her hand on his chest.

There were other premieres in their future to be publicly in love at.  The first, the biggest one of Rey’s career, was not one. They’re co-workers, confidants, and each other’s biggest cheerleaders right now.  Kylo looks relaxed, and she gazes up at him while he glances at her.

Flashing a smile, she untangles and moves to the collection point on the carpet.  They all had to walk the famous steps together, cast and crew. Rey was resisting bounding up them as they stood, waiting for everyone to trickle down.

“People are _consumed_ by you.  Swear to god.” Rose comments, sidling up to Rey.  Rey immediately reaches for the bottle of water she offers, straw already in it to not mess up her lip gloss.  Rey takes a grateful sip, sucking down enough water to put the ocean before them to shame.

“Easy so you don’t have to pee in your dress,” Rose says, taking the bottle from her.  She slides it back in her tote bag, and Rey flashes an embarrassed smile.

“My throat feels like a desert.  I can’t help it,” she says. Rey’s watching Kylo, who looks natural before the camera.  The anxiety runs deep, in the slight tremble in his hand as he adjusts his lapel himself.  She wants to reassure him.

_They’re going to love you.  They’ll understand you_.

Her eyes flit away, to Jessika Pava coming up to them.  They embrace, Rey, holding her at arm's length to look at the tight emerald green dress that hugged her frame.  Jessika brought the role of Ashoka Tano on screen, a minor role but an addition to some of the titular Anidala scenes.

“You look…” she trails off.

Jessika scoffs.  “Speak for yourself.  I love your dress,” she says, looking Rey up and down.  Rey wants to speak on her radiance, how Jessika is practically glowing.  

“So...are you nervous?” Jessika asks.  Rey hates watching herself on screen, and she doesn’t want to think about the 2 hours of it that lay ahead.  Instead, she focuses on Kylo, walking over to the group as Phasma speaks to him.

“A little.  I’d be mad not to be.” Rey then says, looking back to Jessika with warm cheeks.  Jessika only assesses her, secretive look on her face.

“You two?” she asks.  Rey blushes harder, and the girl raises an eyebrow.  Then she turns, long black hair swishing over her shoulder as she walks to Poe Dameron.  Rey can’t focus on her for too long before Kylo steps next to her.

“These stairs…” he trails off.  Rey looks at them, carpet covered and red.  She wonders how she’ll take this in her dress, and she’ll have to figure it out fast as they all begin to form a line.  Kylo holds her elbow so they don’t separate.

Rey doesn’t want to separate from him.  She wants to be with him at this moment, to feel his trepidation and excitement rolled up into one action.

This was earth-shattering for her, as they all grasped hands.  A unified cast, taking short and slow steps towards the stairs and up the stairs.  Her dress, ostentatious now, made it a little too difficult, Rey letting go of Poe’s grip to lift one side.

Kylo glanced down, since they were on the middle step, and promptly let go of her hand also.  His hand comes to help lift the dress. Poe’s hand joins on the other side, and Rey doesn’t know whether to be mortified or cry at the kindness.

The speculative crowd outside the venue obviously loves it, and she imagines the headlines about the photos tomorrow.   **Rey Kenobi, fashion failure?**

She pushes it out of her mind as she reaches the top of the steps, both of them dropping her skirt as she finds her footing.  Rey smooths her skirt out as she faces the crowd, most photographers gathered at the bottom of the steps. She puts on her best smile, filled with real joy and excitement.

Kylo’s hand creeps along the small of her back and everything is how it should be.  Rey wants to loop this moment for the rest of her life, as she looks from Poe and Kylo.  They all did it. They made a movie.

Her heart is still racing as they’re whisked inside, Kylo in step with her as she walks with a fierce nervousness.  It evens out as they enter the theater, Rey in line behind Poe and Jessika. Kylo is shuffling behind her, as applause rumbles through the theater.  

They go to their row, at a convenient exit point in the theater for Rey to duck out when she needs a break.  She’s grateful they thought of her and him, Kylo in an aisle seat. They stop before they sit, allowing the cameras to invade their space.

Then they sit down, and everything rushes away.  They’re late, and directors are not allowed a presentation before anyways.  She knows he has a lot to say once people have seen it for themselves anyway, and she’s watching his awkward limbs adjust.

The lights dim and darken, and his hand comes to rest on her bare thigh, his thumb tracing on the inside.  Her hand rests on top of it, eyes focusing on the screen as the world bleeds into Anakin and Padme’s world.

\---------------------------------------------

He’s seen it a million times.

Between all the cuts, every little clip and nuance, every detail.  He knows it inside and out, and like the back of his hand.

But he’s committed to staying, to absorb what he has made.  Or he’s mostly watching for audience reactions, reactions within Rey.  She thinks she’s seen the final cut, but changes have been made since then.

Including the ending.

But every movie has to start from the beginning and Kylo knows this story like the back of his hand.

Anakin Skywalker was born in 1945 after Shmi Skywalker emigrated to a podunk town in Indiana from post-war Austria.  They grew up in poverty, Anakin without a father and a mother who had no ability to speak or read English. To learn English, Anakin would attend movies at the local cheap theater.

The love for cinema bred there, deep inside and laying dormant until age 17.  Shmi was killed in a tragic car accident, the details unknown to this day. Some people say he did it and they saw him fleeing from the scene.  Others say they saw him holding his burned mother’s body, glass shattered across the pavement and a fire burning in the glassiness of his eyes.

It plays like agony on screen, Poe holding the body against the fire in the background and _sobbing_.

With no reason to stay and only 40 dollars in his pocket, Anakin Skywalker left for LA.  He started work in a production house, after a lucky break shining shoes for a man named Obi-Wan at the train station.  Obi-Wan became his closest confidant, his business partner, and eventually put money down for the first film Anakin ever made.

_Via Veneto_ , a take on an Italian romance but filmed on a back Hollywood lot is where he met Padme.  Padme Amidala, the daughter of a California senator, had caught the acting bug bad. Against her parent’s wishes, she starred in Via Veneto.

Kylo’s eyes are transfixed by Rey on the screen, her demure smile as she smokes a cigarette.  Her hand clasps his tighter, and he rubs the back of it with his thumb.

Of course, Padme and Anakin were described at love at first sight.  They moved in with each other after the completion of _Via Veneto_ in 1961, scandalous at the time for an unmarried couple.  So they married in 1962, a private ceremony in Paris.

They were in love...for a while.  Their love portrays with a dizziness likened to Italian cinema on screen.  Rey stretched across the hood of a red Cadillac, Poe’s lips on her as the sunset dwindles in the distance.  The Galas, the Oscars, the Sundances.  Rey is beautiful, radiant in everything they put her in.

The polka-dotted skirt and black blouse is his favorite, hair tied up in a red scarf as she auditions for a competitor's movie.  By this time, Palpatine has entered the fray, boosting the budget behind Anakin’s movies and signing him to a studio. Kylo made a point to never _show_ Palpatine.  He doesn’t want him on his screen, for what he believes is the crime of ripping apart a family.

Things begin to tumble now.  Padme desires to have a child, Anakin does not want one yet.  Padme wants to work on other movies, Anakin doesn’t want other directors or competition near her.  Jealousy, that had been simmering, boils over. Possessiveness plays in rough sex scenes, and Kylo only stares at his slacks.

He hates watching Poe Dameron fuck his girlfriend.

All of this in conjunction with beautiful things, a Cannes vacation home and a private estate in the hills.  Opulence surrounds them in the form of cold marble, shiny cars, and lush gardens.

Rey walks out of the theater when he expects, at the Sundance scene.  Padme clutching the edges of her dress, running out of a full premiere of **Déchirer** in 1964, directed by Anakin and starring her.  It was due to the addition of a sex scene that she did not approve of.  Sobbing and screaming, she throws a potted plant at the windshield of their shared car and disappears with Ahsoka Tano.

The incident inspires honeymoon, false reconciliation for a few years.  Padme falls pregnant with twins in 1967, and Rey trickles back into the theater to sit next to him.  Their hands resume their hold, and she nestles as close as she can to him.

Anakin begins to fall.  Stress, pressure, and anxiety about being a father have him taking drugs.  Amphetamines to be specific, Palpatine wanting a movie every 8 months. An impossible pace for any person.

The twins are born in 1970, Leia and Luke Skywalker.  Rey’s got a hint of a smile on her face at the babies, and he remembers how she had cooed at them on set.  How his balls had pretty much shrunk back into his body at that, and he couldn’t help but feel warm now. Things have changed.

Anakin gets wrapped into a movie called **Verzweiflung**.  The title means despair in German and is about a man unhappy with his wife and his family.  The ending is the man killing them.

The divorce comes the day after the premiere, in which Padme Amidala did not attend.  She moves out of the opulence of LA and opts for the shores of Santa Barbara.

There is a sequence of the divorce court in 1970.  Of Padme Amidala on the stand, revealing Anakin’s drug abuse.  Rey looks lovely in powder blue, and so do the tears rolling down her face as she speaks.  Poe is only gazing from his side of the courtroom, arms crossed over his chest and a high stoicism.

Padme receives full custody of their children.  She also receives 75% of him. Anakin is bled dry, and cannot make another film that year.

Anakin is gone.  It’s obvious he’s gone, a psychotic break or something plaguing his features.  The movie has picked up an edge, a jarring tempo as Anakin speeds down a highway.

As he leaves his car, slamming it behind him.  He slams his fist through the back porch door, glass popping and shattering.  Kylo remembers the number of takes it took, the resets of the breakaway glass.  

Padme’s bedroom door slams against the wall, and the camera cuts to black.

It’s only sound coming across the speakers.  Screaming, crying, begging. It puts a visible rod in Rey’s spine, as the black screen lets them hear the sounds.

Not see what was happening.  Only hear the fist falls, the kicking, the shattering of glass.  The text comes onto the screen.

**Anakin Skywalker went onto overdose beside a Pasadena highway after the pursuit from the police made him flee his home.  Padme Naberrie-Amidala was found to have late-stage cancer and died only 3 months later on October 18th, 1971. They are separately laid to rest.**

The screen fades to black, along with the sounds.  The credits begin to roll, real pictures of the people portrayed next to each cast name.

\---------------------------------------------

She doesn't know when the tears start.  Rey can never exactly decide what emotionally impacts her more.

But she notices them at the credits, the trembles shaking through her body as the applause starts.  The lights come up, and their hands stop their twine. He’s standing up, and the applause isn’t stopping.  It’s only getting louder, cheering beginning to film the auditorium.

Rey delicately stands, wiping at her eyes in-between her own applause.  She’s being pulled into a hug by Jessika, then Poe. She’s trembling and crying the entire time.

The applause still hasn’t died, and she’s pulled into _his_ arms.  He holds her as she cries.

“ _We did it_.” she croaks.

“ **We did**.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um.....so this took me two months. cannes is over. im still not over cannes though. thoughts and feelings r welcome @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/dankobah) and [tumblr](https://dankobah.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> chapter title based on ["honeymoon" by lana del rey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oPU8XJcA__k)
> 
> fashion details:  
> [rey's dress](http://barefoot-duchess.blogspot.com/2018/10/cannes-2017-elsa-hosk.html)  
> [rey's shoes](https://www.giuseppezanotti.com/us/cruel-i700011014)  
> [kylo's suit](https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/sergi-lopez-rossy-de-palma-oscar-jaenada-olga-kurylenko-news-photo/960233272)


End file.
